A Little 'Talk'
by LoveChilde
Summary: Episode tag to 1X24- what if Hetty actually did want Callen to deal with certain consequences to his actions? Warning- consentual, non-sexual CP. None of them mine, I'm just borrowing.


"You disobeyed a direct order, I can't let that slide." G Callen felt entirely confident in what he'd done, enough so to tell Hetty that she'd have done the same in his place, but he still wanted to curl up and hide at her ire. Something about Hetty always made him feel like a much younger guy, a teenager even. It was funny how after 37 foster homes and orphanages this tiny woman was the closest he'd ever had to real maternal authority. "I'm standing you down."

"Hetty-"

"For one day." She stopped him, and he relaxed slightly. Only slightly, since tension was still thrumming in him, roiling at the revelations of the past few days. "Use it wisely, agent Callen." She pushed a note with an address at him, and he took it eagerly. "But before you go, I think we'll go downstairs to the archives."

For a moment Callen felt as if every drop of blood in his body froze, then started flowing in the wrong direction. He swallowed, his mouth suddenly dry. "The archives?"

"Yes, agent Callen, the archives." Hetty confirmed, rising from her desk. "Or would you rather have the talk we're about to have right here?" She gestured at the random personnel passing by, and Callen cursed the lack of walls in their compound, not for the first time.

"Is- is it really necessary, Hetty? Really?" He was stalling and they both knew it. She always won when it came to these things, and most other things, too. "It's not fair."

"I think it's more than fair. And certainly necessary. You'll feel better after it and you know it as well as I do. Please don't be difficult about this, and let us proceed downstairs." Her hand was gentle but firm on his arm, and reluctantly he followed her, his head feeling slightly disconnected from his body. While they were still out in the open he stayed silent, but as soon as they got downstairs he started again, knowing as he spoke that it was already far too late. The door was already closed behind them, leaving them isolated in the chill semi-darkness of the archives, a place barely visited even by older-fashioned types who still used hardcopy documents. Far too late.

"I don't think I deserve this." He protested, putting up a token resistance he knew was pointless, but made him feel better. "I was in a car accident not two days ago, remember? This can't be safe."

The look she gave him made him feel about two inches tall. "I would never do anything to risk or injure you, agent Callen, never on purpose." Not unless it was crucial to a mission, and they both knew he trusted her with his life and soul. If he hadn't he had plenty of ways to avoid being here right now, would never have gotten into the habit of obeying her in the first place. "You were fortunate enough to walk away from that accident with minor bruises, what's a few more added to the list? This is for your own good" She spoke quietly and deliberately, as usual, and with utter confidence. "You will feel better when we're done."

"You keep saying that." He groused. "It's not helping." He knew he'd feel better later, but that didn't mean he wouldn't hate every single second until 'later' came around. But he was too tired, his mask from the world too tattered, to resist her much longer, and she was well aware of that. Hetty always allowed him to bitch and whine and vent his anger before she got on with things, and he appreciated that. "This isn't fair." He repeated. "I only did what I had to do." He was angry, suddenly and silently furious, but he knew his anger wasn't at Hetty. She hadn't done anything wrong. "I shouldn't be punished for it."

"I took you off the case, Mr. Callen. You went behind my back, coerced your teammates into disobeying my orders, you risked yourself, our team and the investigation. I think I've plenty of cause to punish you." She opened a drawer and took out a black leather paddle. Callen was intimately familiar with the implement, having investigated it at length after the first time Hetty'd had a 'little talk' with him. Oval, roughly ten inches long, not including the handle, black leather covering thin spring steel, with a diamond-spread of holes drilled through it to lower air resistance, it packed a vicious sting that got even to Callen, who was pretty much used to being hit with things. "Yes, I think you've certainly earned this one. And this." She put the paddle on the desk, and then pulled another instrument out of the drawer before closing it. This time Callen really did feel his blood run colder.

"No! C'mon, Hetty, you can't do that. Please? I'm walking wounded here." He hated that it didn't take more than the sight of the slender hardwood ruler, eighteen inches long, an inch and a half wide and not the kind you'd actually ever use to draw a straight line with, to make him beg for mercy. But he knew just how painful the thing was, and knew what it'd do to him, and he didn't want this. Not yet. "Can we- put it off? Say by a week or so?" He tried to keep his voice light, but he was sick with dread. He couldn't do this now. In a week, maybe, he could afford to let Hetty have her way. But not yet.

"No, Mr. Callen, we can't." Hetty's eyes told him she knew exactly what he was trying to do, and he looked at his feet, almost resigned. One final try. "You've had a difficult week, Mr. Callen."

"Exactly." He agreed emphatically. "I've had a rough week. Do you have to make it even rougher? I can handle this, Hetty, really." He was lying and she knew it and he knew she knew. But he wasn't about to subject himself to the hated ruler without at least a little more resistance. He had some pride left, even today. "Please. I can't do this right now."

"You can, and you will, and you have to." Implacable, Hetty indicated the desk. "Go ahead."

"I hate this." He sighed. "Really, really hate it. How do you want me?"

"Over the desk, as usual." It was always over the desk. Callen always asked, and Hetty had never asked why he was in the habit of asking, when it came to punishment. Just as he never asked why she always used professional implements, or how she'd gotten so good with them. "No more stalling please, Mr. Callen."

Stiffly, Callen unzipped his jeans and let them drop, shuffling towards the desk. He knew Hetty wasn't looking at him as he pushed down his briefs and leaned over the edge of the desk, grabbing the opposite side with both hands. She never looked, and he had no problem with being half naked for these interludes, not since the first time when he'd realized there was nothing about it that was sexual. However, it was possibly the most intimate interaction he had with anybody that didn't involve sex. Having him drop his pants wasn't about humiliation- it was about keeping the punishment effective and letting Hetty see exactly what she was doing to him, and he accepted that. He closed his eyes, held his breath and waited.

The first slap landed with no warning and little preparation, cutting through the silence. Callen winced. He honestly didn't know why a paddling got to him so much. He'd been shot, beaten, stabbed, burned and slammed into things, he was no stranger to pain, incidental or deliberately inflicted, but the sting of leather on his bared behind was more than just painful. It touched something deep in him and pushed against every emotional barrier he had. It probably had a lot to do with the hand wielding the paddle, he conceded as more blows rained steadily on his rear. Hetty was a lot stronger than she looked, and had a powerful, steady swing that had him gasping in pain embarrassingly fast. Still, he kept silent, as did she, only occasionally hissing when she hit a particularly sensitive spot.

"You know why I'm doing this, Mr. Callen." Hetty said after a while, the steady slap of leather on skin neither slowing nor losing any strength as she spoke. "Don't you?"

"Because I disobeyed you." He tried to keep his voice steady, and mostly succeeded despite the mounting pain. "Because I investigated on my own and went in with no backup and got the others in trouble." A thought occurred to him and he pushed away from the desk a little, looking over his shoulder. Hetty stopped, the paddle upraised and ready to start again. "Hetty- I didn't- I mean, is anybody else- Nate? Eric?" He felt a chill grip his heart and guilt started to seep from the personal to the professional part of him. Hetty gave him a wry smile.

"If you mean to ask whether anybody else will find themselves spread out over this desk, Mr. Callen, then no, you didn't get anybody else in trouble." Hetty brought the paddle down again hard. It wasn't that the others weren't in trouble, but she had several methods of keeping her agents in line, and G Callen was the only one she was using this method on- at the moment, at least. She decided it might do him good to know that. "Even if you had, this desk is reserved for your use only, as are my tools."

"Great. Ow." He wriggled, trying to evade her too-accurate aim. "I feel so special."

"You should." She said archly. "You should also stop moving so much, it's not going to help." She placed her hand lightly at the small of his back, grounding him. He relaxed a notch further, then tensed again. They were about to get to the hard part-

"When we're done here, Mr. Callen, will you continue punishing yourself?"

-And there it was. The hardest question, the hardest thing, period, about these sessions.

"I haven't even started yet." He protested as mildly as he could, considering that his ass was on fire by now.

"But you will. I can even understand why you'd think you should, however misguided the thought is." She continued to swing the paddle, turning his bright red rear redder still, but the blows were slightly lighter now, aimed to sting over the already sensitized skin but not to bruise him further. "Will you let go of the guilt I can see lurking behind your eyes?"

"I...Don't know." He always answered as honestly as he could, having learned a very painful lesson the first time he'd lied about it. The first time he'd said he'd be fine and then gone out almost immediately to do something Hetty considered self destructive, the consequences had involved an hour long 'chat' with the hardwood ruler that he had still felt a week afterward. He'd been honest ever since. "She's dead, Hetty." His voice cracked a little but he braced himself and went on. "And I didn't even get to meet her."

"I know." She nodded behind his back and put the paddle down at least. She walked around to the other side of the desk, and he raised slightly tearful eyes to meet hers, then looked away, swallowing hard. She stroked his hair gently, once, and it was almost enough to undo all his defenses. "Are you ready for part two, Mr. Callen?"

He huffed. "Do we have to? Really, I'm-" She cleared her throat loudly and he lowered his head again, resting it on the table. "Yes, I'm ready." He wasn't ready and he still hated it, but he had no choice. Hetty was right, it was better than going out and taking stupid risks. He'd done plenty of that already.

"Good." She stroked his hair again and took up the ruler, "Now, this is definitely punishment for disobeying me and for risking the investigation. It's not, however, punishment for any kind of failure where your sister is concerned. That wasn't your fault, Mr. Callen."

Rationally he knows she's right, but everything else still says he could've tried harder, looked more, and never mind that he hadn't known he'd had a sister until three days ago, he _should've_ known. "I'm not angry about that." He said, not entirely truthfully, then gasped when the ruler cracked against his butt. "Ow, damnit, I'm serious. I'm not. Not really."

"You were eight years old when she died, Mr. Callen, you had no way of finding her in time, no way of finding out about her, either. She doesn't show on any of your records." Hetty's way with the ruler was effective and agonizing- six sharp strokes to the exact same spot before moving elsewhere. For now, she was concentrating on the under-curve of his ass, striking across both cheeks together, and he squirmed and gasped.

"I know that." Damn, it was getting harder to talk. "I couldn't know. They- they never said-"

"You don't show up on her records either, by the way," Hetty answered the question he'd been afraid to ask, "though there aren't many of those. Like yours, her original papers seem to've been lost or destroyed."

The words hit him harder than any physical blow and the tears which had been dammed up until now finally overflowed, nudged loose both by the crack of the ruler on the crease between his buttocks and thighs and by this final nail in the coffin that held his hopes for finding out a bit of his past. "Sh-she didn't even t-tell her m-my name." He forced out, struggling for breath. "I let myself ho-hope. 'S why I'm angry. I l-let myself get my hopes up." The ruler was still striking at him relentlessly, matching the red hot physical pain to the burning disappointment and grief over the lost chance and the sister he couldn't remember. He put his head down on the desk again and sobbed, letting the pain reach through all his barriers and draw out the hurt in his soul. He should've known it was too good to be real, shouldn't have trusted. The upsweep of hope when he went to meet her, and the crushing disappointment when he met her and felt not the least spark of recognition. Childishly, he'd let himself hope for a miracle, for magic, for some higher power to be kind to him for once.

"You're allowed to hope, Mr. Callen." Hetty surveyed G's dark red butt, faintly marked where the ruler had left stripes of overlapping strokes, swollen and almost glowing with heat, and decided it was almost enough. "There's hope yet. If Keelson had information on you, it is likely that somebody else does as well. We'll find them."

Callen shrugged, too lost in misery to either believe Hetty or respond verbally. The ruler returned to his sit spot, landing again and again until the intense pain snapped him out of his internal swamp of emotions and into a wordless cry of protest.

"We. Will. Find. Them." Hetty stressed every word with a slap of the ruler and Callen bucked and squirmed, again trying to avoid the blows. "Do you understand, Mr. Callen?"

"Y-yes!" He shouted.

"And do you believe me?" Still the relentless attack continued.

"Yes! Yes, damnit, I believe you!" Completed drained, barely aware, Callen slumped over the desk and let the solid wood under him take all his weight, his feet almost leaving the floor. The spanking stopped with as little warning as it'd begun, and for a short while the only sound in the room was his own ragged sobbing and Hetty's quiet breath as she let him recover, once again resting a comforting hand at the small of his back. It took him almost ten minutes to regain some kind of control, but slow tears were still making their way down his face and pooling on the table. His body shuddered with occasional after sobs. He hurt, body and soul, but he did feel lighter, drained and pliant instead of the coiled tension of earlier. It wasn't exactly better, but it would be, just as soon as his ass wasn't hot enough to fry an egg on.

Finally he pushed himself up with a groan, which turned into a soft curse when dizziness came over him as he stood up after so long with his head down. He swayed, supporting himself on the desk, and felt Hetty's arm come under his elbow. "Slowly, Mr. Callen. Here." She left him facing the wall and moved away, allowing him a few more moments of privacy to collect himself. Glancing over his shoulder to make sure she wasn't looking, Callen rubbed his butt carefully, wincing as he did. That was some damage back there, he knew he'd feel it for days. The knowledge was oddly comforting. Slowly and carefully he tugged his shorts and pants back up and turned to face Hetty again, pale and red eyed but a lot calmer than he'd been. She smiled at him, and he noticed that the paddle and ruler were both back in their drawer.

"You'll stay down here for a while?" She half asked, half ordered, and he nodded.

"Think so. I have all day, after all." He shrugged, scrubbing at his face. He had a pounding headache, and now that the tension was gone he was exhausted. He'd rest here until walking was less of an issue, then slink off to his motel- with maybe a stop on the way at that address on the note. "I'm sorry."

"I know. I'm sorry as well, Mr. Callen. But if the information exists, we'll find it."

"Yeah." He felt a lump rise in his throat again, his emotions still too vollatile. "As soon as she said she was my sister, I knew she wasn't." Hetty's face expressed the unspoken request to explain. "She- Amy- Any sister I might've had, if she remembered me, she'd have looked for me as soon as she could. She'd have found me." He wiped his eyes. "She said she loved me."

"I'm sure she loved you, Mr. Callen. I'm sure you were lovable as a child." Hetty's tone implied that he wasn't all that bad now, either, and G smiled at her as best he could. "Would you like some water?"

"Yeah, please." He loved that she was always considerate, even while she was blistering his butt. It was one of the many things that separated her discipline from the abuse he'd experienced in various foster homes. As she left the room he opened an unused drawer in one of the cabinets and found the small jar or aloe he kept there for this sort of occasion. There was a small sofa behind the cabinets, put there decades earlier and forgotten about, but useful after longer sessions with Hetty. Callen pushed his pants down again, hissing in pain, and spread a liberal amount of gel on his burning ass and thighs before lying face down on the sofa and closing his eyes. He was almost asleep when Hetty returned and left a large bottle of water on the floor near him.

"All right, Mr. Callen?"

"Yeah. I will be." He sighed and took the bottle gratefully. "Thanks, Hetty. For everything."

"Always, Mr. Callen. But let's try to make it to three months before the next time I need to do this, alright?"

"Yeah. Think next time we can just talk, without you roasting my ass?" He drank, finishing half the bottle in several large gulps. Hetty chuckled.

"Mr. Callen, on the day you tell me how you feel and why, and discuss your emotions in depth as you just did, without my having to, as you say, 'roast your ass' first, I promise you I will retire my tools and convert this room into a backup computer center. But somehow I think that day will be a long time coming."

As usual, she was right.


End file.
